


Without you I rob trains

by Fatale (femme)



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something deeply satisfying about the solidness of his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without you I rob trains

Without you I rob trains  
Peter/Neal (mentions Peter/El/Neal) R for beej  
WC: approx. 840

A/N: If figures of authority acting proprietary and vaguely threatening during sex does it for you, then this is the ficlet for you!

I know I write a lot of fluff. This is not that fic.  
FYI - I was listening to [I want your love by the Toadies](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6_hV6prLJU%E2%80%9D) while writing this, which to be honest, probably makes this fic 1000x more distressing.

Written for [](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/profile)[**run_the_con**](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/) 's porn round. [](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/profile)[**theatregirl7299**](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/) prompted me with "coming home." AHAHAHAHA. PROBABLY NOT WHAT SHE HAD IN MIND.

 

 

 

Lazing in bed with Peter was an excellent way to spend a morning, all things considered. Neal could be doing a) boring paperwork or b) sitting in the van listening to Jones belch loudly, then grin and mutter, “Better out than in, Caffrey, right?”

Which was just -- nasty beyond belief and also _wrong_.

Neal skated a hand up Peter’s chest, circling a dark nipple and brushing over his collarbone. _Clavicle_. Once pretending to be a doctor for a month had never stopped paying off, in his humble experience.

There was something deeply satisfying about the solidness of his chest -- in no way could Neal ever fool himself into thinking he was with anything other than a man. He liked woman, sometimes loved them, but this was nice too -- different, exciting. It was all just good fun anyway and this would probably be the last time. A goodbye fuck for the road.

Peter shifted under him, brushed a kiss over his temple. “Ready to go again?”

“Jesus Christ, Peter, you’re insatiable,” Neal said with a slight smile. It was true, Peter had a ridiculous, practically teenaged refractory period. Sometimes sex with Peter felt like El and Neal just holding on for dear life while Peter did his thing.

“So -- yes?”

Neal sighed, turned over and gestured at himself. “Have at it, but I’m probably just going to mostly lay here,” he warned.

“What a treat for me,” Peter said dryly, but he obligingly scooted down Neal’s body, mouthing at his stomach, licking wet trails down his thighs and pressing damp kisses at the join between his legs and pelvis.

Against all reason and physical probability, Neal felt his dick begin to stir in interest. He glared down at it, betrayed.

\-- Until he felt warm heat swallow him whole and he hissed, let his head fall back into the pillow, barely able to keep from thrusting into Peter’s mouth.

Peter pulled off Neal’s cock with an obscene wet pop and said quietly, “Look at me.”

God, Peter was such a bossy fuck, but Neal met his eyes, dark and serious, and the air instantly became charged, oppressive. This wasn’t like their usual fucks.

“I want you to watch me,” Peter said, “and if you look away or close your eyes, we’re done here.”

Neal nodded, swallowed convulsively, but kept his eyes trained on Peter as he mouthed at his cock, licked a solid stripe from his balls to the tip, tonguing the slit before swallowing him down again.

Neal’s eyes watered with the effort his keep his eyes open, toes curled and grasping at the sheets, twisting them between his sweaty palms. “Fuck,” he hissed and bit his lip until he tasted the salty, metallic tang of blood.

Peter flicked his gaze to Neal to make sure he was still watching, and pushed his legs up over his shoulders and pressed a finger into him, still slick and open from earlier.

Neal bit back a cry, overestimated, skin buzzing with arousal and discomfort. He wanted to come desperately, he wanted to left _alone_.

He shifted his hips, felt a jolt of electric shock travel down his spine, Peter’s finger working inside him, brushing _that spot_ , and his other hand a hard, proprietary weight on Neal’s hip. It was difficult to breath, nearly folded in two, and Neal gasped for breath, dragging in mouthfuls of air between ragged gasps. Neal felt his balls tighten, the edges of his vision going hazy as his orgasm punched violently through him, shocking, blinding and bright.

His body shook, trembled with the aftershocks, and he became aware of Peter’s weight over him, pressing him down into the mattress, Peter’s hand running up and down his side soothingly.

After a moment, Peter said conversationally, “So now that you’re a free man, what kind of plans do you have?”

Neal shrugged as well as he could, eyes sliding closed, feeling lazy and fucked-out. He’d thought about it plenty, but truth be told, he’d always assumed he’d die or go back to prison before he got his anklet off. Maybe he’ll go to Europe, spend his days eating croissants and reading the paper, playing chess in the park with the geriatrics. Hard to say where he’ll call home next.

He opened his eyes to tell Peter, but Peter was already looking down at Neal -- mouth pursed, serious and unflinching -- and leaned down and grasped Neal’s naked ankle with one hand, notching his fingers around the jutting bones.

 _Fibula_ and _Talus_ , Neal’s mind supplied feebly as he propped himself up to see Peter's hand splayed over his skin, pale and soft looking beneath Peter's rough, sun-warmed hand.

Peter’s grip tightened, stopping just short of painful, as he said, “I know everything’s a game to you, Neal, but just remember -- I play for keeps.”

“Is that a threat?” Neal asked, mouth suddenly dry, pulse speeding up, remembering the distant feeling of traipsing across Europe, knowing Peter was hot on his trail. Being hunted, constantly in someone’s crosshairs.

“It’s a promise,” Peter said.

“Challenge accepted,” Neal said, laying back, his heart thundering in his ears.

 

 

 

 

 

The end.

 

 


End file.
